


Cinema Love

by ReoPlusOne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, High School, M/M, Teen Romance, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReoPlusOne/pseuds/ReoPlusOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur the cool kid slowly falls in love with Alfred, the movie nerd.  USUK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinema Love

If a Brit is alone in a forest and he comes across a bottle of vitamins, will he pronounce it funny? The answer is yes.

Arthur never asked for his life to go the way it did: pivoted on the axle that was his national origin.  But yanks loved the accent, you see, and they loved when he smiled his ‘please go away’ smile and said, “yes, well, to me, you’re the one the with the accent --” and they loved ‘his’ words.  He was far from the only Brit in Texas, but those words that he had been speaking since he was a baby (queue, loo, flat, lorry) were his words the moment he spoke them, and everyone just had to get their own words in too.

“That’s so funny, you know, my name is Lori.  What does lorry mean in your language?” 

Arthur was a gentleman, and gentlemen did not tell young ladies that they would be called a dump truck in some countries.  He nervously told her it was a kind of flower and made an excuse to bolt.

Learning how to navigate middle school was rough on everyone, including the yanks -- but then, nobody else in school dreaded going to the dentist, the grocery store, anywhere, like Arthur did.  Because inevitably someone would give them that wide-eyed look, gasp a little and ask, “Oh, where are you from, Australia?”

And God bless the English spirit, because he could smile politely and correct them every time without blowing a fuse (though he wanted to, oh yes he did).

High school and testosterone both played an equal part in Arthur’s newfound edge.  Truly, some people had coolness thrust upon them -- and without meaning to he was invited to sit beside the girls with the most developed breasts and the boys with the lowest test scores, just like that.  The seat so many others coveted with all their poor pubescent souls he occupied just because he could pronounce words funny.

And yes, it would be pronounced vit-ih-mins, until his dying day -- it was the worst qualification for the new king of the lunchroom Arthur had ever heard of.  But hey, that's high school.

It was a chore to be a constant novelty, a walking source of entertainment for every American who crossed his path, but then it was certainly greater than the alternative.  Arthur had had the hormone-fueled crown placed upon his head from the start, sure, but that didn't mean that he was clueless to the struggle of the common occupant of his kingdom.  He watched the nerdy kids stick up for themselves, bravely protect their homework and their honor, only to return to school the next day with a black eye for their trouble.

It was an American fantasy to be the hero and stand up for every underdog within one’s vicinity; Arthur had been taught to mind his own damn business, and that was what he did.

Frankly, that business consisted of a lot of time wondering how long it would take for him to snap.  Answering the same questions over and over with the same politeness was positively irritating -- and the knowledge that his crown was at stake didn't make it any less so.  Arthur was almost ready to give up his status and become one of the brooding kids that smoked cigarettes after school until a girl (one of the developed ones, Cindi, with an _i_ ) invited him over to her house.

When she asked him to take his pants off, he had to do a double take; fortunately for him she meant both things that word could refer to (in ‘his’ ‘language’).

\-- She kissed the head of his cock and marveled aloud that it wasn't circumcised -- the first she'd ever seen.

A few days before his birthday, he got down on his knees and begged his parents to buy him a truck.  Perhaps sensing his pain, they complied, and yet -- no matter how he tried, he could never get the American accent down enough to fit in like he wanted to.

Arthur grew so used to being impressive by the simple standard of sounding ‘cool’ that he completely skipped one of the most loathsome phases of adolescence: the desperate ‘like me’ stage.  Every word, every gesture, every thought was meant to invoke the curiosity of everyone around him -- but Arthur had managed that for years without trying.  He quickly learned that, not only did the phase spread like wildfire, it infected the personalities of almost everyone he used to like until there was nobody left that he did.

But it didn't take long for that to change.

The day he met Alfred was a cool day in March.  Winter had stayed late that year and so it didn’t really feel like spring yet; still with a residual resistance to low temperatures, Arthur didn’t have to worry so much about the so-called ‘cold’ that Texas had to offer.  

He'd only started running when he heard a commotion and thought that someone might have slipped and fallen; the reality was that high school was a darwinian jungle, and yet another victim of it was crying out for help.  That victim was Alfred, backed against the wall and attempting to throw what were really the most pathetic punches Arthur had ever seen (and he’d seen his fair share of freshmen screaming and writhing like angry kittens).  The two boys -- juniors like Arthur, he recalled -- had already broken his glasses but held their ground as Alfred attacked the air fruitlessly.

“Hey!” The two-man formation they’d made around Alfred, who made a face and squinted his eyes to see, broke up the moment Arthur jogged over to them.  “You’ve found him!”

“What?” Alfred gasped.

“You idiot, I couldn't find you anywhere.” Carefully, Arthur smiled -- ever polite -- as he turned to his classmates.  “Can't thank you enough for finding my friend.  Really.” Without the stones to say anything against the will of one of the most popular boys in school, the bullies went on their way with their proverbial tails tucked away.

As Alfred threw his shoulders back and puffed out his chest Arthur begged himself the question: did he want to waste his time on a walking “like me” phase?

As it turned out, Alfred wasn’t all bad.  He was a movie nerd (“aficionado is the term I prefer, it sounds better,” he’d said once, and that was hard to argue with), a game nerd, a science nerd; and not once did he ask about Arthur’s accent.  Perhaps it was out of respect, or perhaps he understood what it was like to be gawked at and figured he could at least keep from being the next in a long line of confused and awestruck yanks.

It got the point of being jarring, and so finally Arthur mentioned over lunch, “You know, you’ve never said anything about my accent.”

Through his burger, Al laughed.  “I guess, to you, I’m the one with the accent, huh?”

“I suppose you are,” Arthur mashed his potatoes with his fork.

“There’s nothing to ask, is there? It’s just an English accent.”

“You’re the first one to say that to me.”

“Psh, I’m a movie aficionado.  You ever hear of James Bond? I hear your accent all the time.”

When summer came, Alfred was the only one to get Arthur’s cell number (and not the one to the local radio station’s “you’ve been rejected” hotline), on a post-it note, folded up into a tight little triangle like it was something precious.  The first day of vacation, they sent two hundred and twenty seven text messages -- Arthur’s mum was furious, until William snatched the phone from his hands and explained “Oh, it’s just that cute lil’ freshman he’s always talking about,” And Arthur grabbed it back and said “He’ll be a sophomore this year, I’ll have you know.”

The next month his mum spent the extra money for unlimited texting, and that was that.

That Summer was dense with activity.  Arthur was approaching his senior year after all, which meant looking around at universities, considering his major -- all of which had Arthur making damn good use of that new data plan.  Because even though there were historic sites to see and proto-classes to attend, Arthur's mind was with a boy who was most focused on the next Indiana Jones movie.  Alfred’s birthday, conveniently placed at the start of summer vacation, was an occasion; with no idea of what else to give him, Arthur's mum handed him a ticket to come along with them on their yearly family cruise (Alfred wouldn't stop hugging them both.  His family wasn't well off enough to afford things like vacations.).

In the dark of the evening, when Arthur’s family had drifted off to sleep to the sound of the hotel telly blaring, the two teenagers slipped away.  Though they may have imagined some grand adventure for them both to experience together, what actually happened was a little less like a movie and involved a little more sand in unmentionable places.

Arthur dipped his toes in the Atlantic for the first time since he was a child in England.  He wished he could wear his sunburns like a badge of honor (like Al did, “dude it just means you're having an awesome time!”) but instead they just made him loathe the residual heat on the beach.

“I saw something like this in a movie once,” He chuckled, and Alfred sprawled out on the beach beside him; the waves were just strong enough to rolls up the bottoms of his swimming trunks and tickle his leg hair.

“I bet you've seen it a hundred times.  It's a cliche, you know.”

“What’s cliche about it?”

“You know, the moonlight on the ocean, the quiet beach.  It's, you know, romantic.”

A glance.  Alfred sputtered.  “Not _romantic_ romantic, you know.  I mean like in the movies, like this is always where the couple holds hands for the first time, and it's… just in the movies.  You know what I mean?”

Arthur's hand snuck over like the pink panther (and the pink part really was apt, his hands had gotten the worst of the sunburn thanks to Knitting Today) and, ever so carefully, found Alfred's hand to rest on top of.

“I think I know what you mean.”

The season flew by with no further affection.  They were just friends, after all, and for the first time in his life Arthur worried over that friendship until he was nearly blue in the face.  What could he say around Alfred? What could he _not_ say around Alfred? Who would initiate the next time? Or the time after that, for that matter…

The simple answer was, nobody.  Or that's what Arthur believed -- three months of their usual video games, movies on a Friday night (and even that one time Arthur stole some wine from his mum and they each choked it down with casual smiles even though it tasted nothing short of _vile_ ) all came together to culminate in… nothing.

_Absolutely fucking nothing._

The school year began again and welcomed Arthur in as a senior.  After an entire summer of brainstorming and fussing, the farthest they'd ever gotten was holding hands on a beach in the Bahamas and then doing everything in their power to pretend it never happened -- Arthur briefly considered finding a business school in a galaxy far, far away and begging them to admit him early.

And then that day came, when winter hadn't quite come again.  Arthur walked to Alfred's house in the thinnest long-sleeved shirt he owned and stood outside the door, phone in hand.  The sounds of his friend fumbling about behind his window might have been funny at first, but as the clock ticked ever closer to 8:15 Arthur grew restless and pounded on the door.

Alfred emerged wrapped up in a scarf.

Arthur cocked his head.  “What the hell are you doing with that?”

“I'm wearing it, duh.”

“It's barely 60 degrees out.”

“Yeah well, I'm cold.”

With raised eyebrows and a sneaking suspicion that his friend might be hiding a hickey, they left together shrouded in awkward silence -- another word wasn't said until the time came to round the corner to school and Alfred stumbled to a stop.  His hands were balled tightly in the ugly moss-green plaid of the scarf, and he looked positively huffy (adorable) as Arthur turned to look at him.  “What is it?”

Whoosh.  Alfred attacked, swinging the scarf forward like a jump rope to land just at the base of Arthur's neck.  Like a lassoed calf, he stood in dumb silence for the moment it took Alfred to gather up his courage, hang on tight and _pull_.

He ended up bashing their foreheads together.

“Ow, fuck!” Arthur bent over and clutched his head like a war wound, more confused than really hurt -- of all the things he expected to happen, being headbutted certainly wasn't high on the list.  “What the _hell_ was that?”

“I - I thought it would be cool, you know? God, I'm sorry!”

“What were you trying to do, take my eye out?”

“No!”

“Then what are you doing with that thing?” And even a moment ago Arthur might have called it a stretch to think of a scarf as a deadly weapon...

“I'm -- I was just trying to kiss you, okay?”

Arthur blinked.  “Kiss me?”

“Yeah, it's just -- you know, it's dumb.”

Alfred’s glasses had always seemed like a permanent fixture on his face, (except that one time at their sleepover when he fell asleep watching Carl Sagan and they’d hung off just so) but they slid off strangely easily.  Arthur folded them up in his palm, and again their faces met -- just a little more slowly.

Arthur had gotten to the point where he was sure that “butterflies in the stomach” was just a romanticism based on something other than reality, but there they were.  In his short life he'd had his cock sucked, but he'd never had a kiss that made those little butterflies come out.

If he was that flustered, he could only imagine that Alfred’s foot was probably popping up just out of sight.

“You could have just done that, you idiot.” With his lips still puckered like he might get a round two right off the bat, Alfred just nodded.  “Where did you even get the stupid scarf idea?”

Alfred’s gaze stayed on his own shoelaces.  “I saw it in a movie once.”


End file.
